


Strong Enough To Do This On Your Own

by forestdivinity (ForestDivinity)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Illness, Old Married Couple, Scarlet Welly Boots, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestDivinity/pseuds/forestdivinity
Summary: Jaskier’s fingers are worn with callouses from years of playing the lute, his joints ache too much to strum it now and he knows that the time is close. He is aged and weary with the world. For half a decade now, they have stayed in this little cottage on the coast, him and Geralt. In his heart he knows they won’t get another half a year.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 146





	Strong Enough To Do This On Your Own

Jaskier’s fingers are worn with callouses from years of playing the lute, his joints ache too much to strum it now and he knows that the time is close. He is aged and weary with the world. For half a decade now, they have stayed in this little cottage on the coast, him and Geralt. In his heart he knows they won’t get another half a year. He’s not afraid to face death, but he is afraid of leaving. It makes something in his stomach clench, every time he looks at his husband and tries to figure out the words to say.

Geralt knows the truth too, his golden eyes narrow and his brow furrows, crinkling between the eyes in a way that makes him look adorable and young. Next to Jaskier, he always looks young now. Never ageing, not a year past his prime. Jaskier would be jealous if he wasn’t so heartbroken. It just isn’t fair. That he has to move on and Geralt will be left here, the same as before.

No. Worse than before. Heartbroken and mourning. Jaskier can’t imagine a worse way for a Witcher to be. Jaskier wants to gather him up and promise never to let go but the words would be hollow and empty. They both know he doesn’t have the time, what with the way that his chest rattles in the wind and his joints creak like an un-oiled hinge. His heart stutters when he walks too far (from the bedroom to the kitchen, from the garden to the stables, from his bed to Geralt’s arms) and it is only sheer luck that keeps his voice steady even when his hands and legs are shaking like a storm has blown through them. It wouldn’t be fair to promise Geralt the world, not when he only has a sliver left of time.

He hasn’t sung in what feels like an age. His memory has been slowly fading, and lyrics run from him like wolves and horses. One minute there, the next minute gone. The last time he had tried to sing ‘Toss a Coin’ he’d ended up in tears for an hour, and bedridden for a day. Sometimes he’ll hum a little tune as he rests, but their house is quiet. It’s not the life he’d wanted. Not the death he’d imagined. In the dark of his thoughts, Jaskier sometimes wishes a monster had gotten to him, this slow inevitably wrenches both their hearts out of their chests and crushes them. It is agonising to watch. To see Geralt fret and worry. Jaskier has never seen him cry but sometimes he hears a howling outside the window when he’s meant to be napping and he knows there is only one wolf around. His wolf. The White Wolf.

Winter creeps ever closer. Jaskier holds Geralt close as the cold sinks into the walls. Not long now, it tells him, not long. There is a new tune on his tongue, he lets it rest on the back of his throat, hums it when they’re wrapped around each other trying to forget the horror of these slowly growing nights. Geralt does not beg him to stay, does not pray or wish. Somehow it is worse.

Jaskier knows that it will be soon. He opens his mouth and kisses Geralt, slow and soft, nothing like they used to be. Geralt’s hands tangle in the sheets, gripping them the way he can’t grip Jaskier any more. The noise that leaves him is awful, low and feral in his chest. His eyes are closed tight as Jaskier gathers his head into his lap. Calloused fingers weave through Geralt’s silver hair, rough and shaking.

“You were supposed to be my light.” Geralt says, and his voice is hoarse and somewhere very far away. Jaskier hums the little tune he’s been working on and says nothing. When Geralt’s eyes open they are practically black and filled with tears. “How can you leave me?” He asked and it is not an accusation but a desperate plea. Jaskier kisses his forehead and watches those tears fall. Outside it has begun to snow, the first flakes of winter. They won’t yet settle on the ground. Jaskier knows he won’t live to see the thaw. He takes a rattling breath, smoothes the creases of Geralt’s brow with his thumb.

“I know you’re strong enough to do this on your own.” He sings, repeats the line over and over until his throat aches.

“I know you’re strong enough to do this, I know you’re strong enough to do this, I know you’re strong enough to do this on your own.”

When Geralt’s hand reaches up he tangles it with his own. Between the song and the snow they both start to cry but Jaskier holds on tighter than he has in months - in years - as he sings. It’s a promise and a hymn and an aching bargain. Geralt has to be strong enough because Jaskier has no choice but to go.

And go he does, one cold winter night. They are curled up by the fire and Jaskier knows it’s his time. He rests against Geralt’s chest and sings, because he is a bard and he will go out with music and an oath on his tongue. When he lets his eyes close he knows they won’t open again, and suddenly the world feels very far away, only the whisper of a lyric on his tongue.

“You’re strong enough to do this on your own.”


End file.
